


Controlled, Bound, Treasured

by pimpmypaws



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, CBT, Gag, M/M, PWP, reluctance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pimpmypaws/pseuds/pimpmypaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reluctant!Sherlock submitting to make John happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Controlled, Bound, Treasured

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a combination of [this](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/6375.html?thread=28944871#t28944871) CBT prompt and a prompt asking for a reluctant person subbing to make their partner happy that I have since lost the link to. Originally posted on LJ.

He couldn’t stop repeating John’s name. Gasped, choked out, lost in a groan, whimpered around the bit gag he’d requested, knowing how loud he was destined to be. He didn’t want to beg, didn’t want to scream, didn’t want to scare John. But he didn’t want the rough hand working between his legs either, not strictly.

“Sherlock,” John’s voice stopped his thrashing briefly. He didn’t have much room to move, not with his arms tied tightly with thin rope to the legs of the bed, thigh cuffs in place and a rigid bar holding his knees open. He knelt on the cold wooden floor, sitting on his heels, but jumped with every new move John made. The rope was biting into his wrists, his knees bruised from sliding across the floorboards, his chest heaved with the strain.

His head fell forward, his chin almost touching his chest, and he looked down at his own cock. It hadn’t been long, but there wasn’t any space left in his head to figure how long exactly, and he was sore all over. He didn’t even know when John had purchased these things, they didn’t have a clothesline why did he have clothespins on hand, surely he hadn’t bought that wicked piece of leather stretching Sherlock’s balls away from his body since he returned from Afghanistan.

He glanced back up at John, John who had one hand cradling Sherlock’s balls in his palm, exerting slight pressure. But with the way his balls were stretched, pulled away from him, that soft squeezing was enough. Sherlock let his head fall back. His hips jerked instinctively back, only increasing the discomfort, and his whole body thrashed against the ropes again.

“God, Sherlock,” John’s voice came again. He sounded the same way he did that first night, awed at Sherlock’s deductions. Amazed. 

Sherlock opened his eyes again, going automatically to John’s face. John was looking down at his own hand, arousal showing clearly in his eyes at Sherlock’s pain. He licked his lips, squeezed harder, and a strained gurgle found its way of Sherlock’s throat.

John abruptly released him and Sherlock heaved in a breath, his body relaxing minutely. A calloused hand rested against his thigh, stroking his skin softly, and Sherlock almost wept with the relief at the kind touch. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t being done out of anger, that Sherlock hadn’t done anything to be forgiven for. It felt like it was and that he had. Even their many talks about what John wanted, what Sherlock was willing to let him do, were forgotten in the face of the tortures John visited on him.

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he watched John’s hand go for the pile of clothespins by his knee. His cock was already red and swollen, both from the erection he hadn’t quite lost despite the abuse, and a surprisingly painful hand spanking. He didn’t want to think about the pins clamping down on his tender skin, pinching his cock in a way John’s hand couldn’t. 

He didn’t have to imagine for long. John pulled up a small area of skin on the shaft of Sherlock’s cock and fitted the clothespin over it, closing it slowly. The pain was sharp and Sherlock’s legs jerked, trying to close and protect his sensitive cock, but the spreader bar kept him open. John seemed undeterred, simply reached for another clothespin.

Sherlock closed his eyes against the sensation, tried to retreat into his own thoughts. For a moment he succeeded, but then John snapped another closed around his cock and he found himself thrown back into his body. Over and over he repeated his attempts at disappearing, each less successful than the last. He bit down hard on the thick rubber bit in his mouth, unable to hold in a desperate wail that left his throat feeling raw as a pin snapped shut on the head of his cock.

He felt a hand back on his swollen balls, fingers pinching the skin up, and heard the slight creak of a clothespin opening. Sherlock’s eyes flew open. He couldn’t take it, couldn’t, not after that slapping, the squeezing, no more pins, his balls felt so heavy, so inflamed, he couldn’t. His body was out of his control, arms yanking desperately against the ropes, almost moving the bed, and he shook his head side to side, eyes wide open and begging.

“Ngph,” he managed around the gag. “John, ngph,”

The hand on his balls pulled away immediately and Sherlock slumped forward, his head falling to rest on John’s shoulder as the other man shifted closer. The very hands that had been torturing him came up to rest on his neck, one going to the buckle on the gag and pulling it from his mouth.

“Sherlock?” John asked, cradling his jaw in both hands and peering into his eyes.

Sherlock couldn’t stop his body from shaking, not from relief, not from the pain that still radiated from his cock and balls up through his abdomen, making his stomach twitch, but from what he saw in John’s face. Even he wouldn’t claim his brain was at full capacity, distracted as it was, but he couldn’t mistake John’s expression for anything but what it was.

“You were amazing,” John muttered, leaning forward to kiss him softly, fingertips drifting across his face soothingly. “Thank you, thank you.”

“John,” Sherlock said softly against his partner’s mouth. His face was wet with sweat and, yes, he thought, tears. He didn’t want to stop being so close to John, didn’t want to lose those kisses, but the pain. His voice caught in his throat. “You need to – I need, God, make it stop…”

John pulled back and looked down at Sherlock’s cock, which was softening as they spoke. He swallowed visibly. “What do you want me to do first?” He asked, looking back up at Sherlock’s face. “Do you want me to untie you?”

Sherlock shook his head. The bondage wasn’t uncomfortable, it didn’t upset him to be so restrained, not by John, it was—

“Clothespins, take the clothespins off,” he gasped. His eyes squeezed shut at the first touch of John’s hand to his cock. 

“It’ll be worse off than on, for a moment,” John warned and he nodded, trying to brace himself for the flow of blood back into his damaged flesh, but when the first pin was removed he couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath. It was worse than putting them on, John was right, but the spike in pain dulled quickly, until John opened the next pin. 

John rested a hand against Sherlock’s hip, almost petting him as he worked, and Sherlock tried to concentrate on that small movement. When the ache from the last clothespin had finally faded and John’s nimble fingers had removed the ball stretcher, Sherlock let himself lean back against the foot of the bed. He felt John’s hands undoing the spreader bar, unbuckling the thigh cuffs, untying his wrists, but all he could concentrate on was the relief that came with the cessation of pain. He kept his eyes closed, riding out the shudders that still passed through his body.

Sherlock let John pull his legs out from under him, spread him out on the floor. The soft hands roamed over his body, rubbing the pins and needles out of his legs, stroking up his sides, pointedly avoiding Sherlock’s cock until Sherlock stopped shaking. 

“John,” Sherlock said, reaching for John’s hands with his own and pulling the other man closer. “You need to, you need to...” he muttered, and he pushed John’s hand down to his cock, watched as John wrapped a hand around himself, precum welling at the tip as he stroked. 

His face went slack as his hand moved, eyes drifting to Sherlock’s red and angry cock, soft though it was, and his hand sped up. His breath started to come in short, panted gasps, only seconds before all of him was coming, semen landing on Sherlock’s stomach, mouth dropping open as he leaned into Sherlock’s shoulder, nuzzling his face against his partner’s neck.

“I can’t believe you let me,” he gasped, directing the words to Sherlock’s collarbone as thin arms encircled his shaking shoulders. “You are…you are brilliant.”

Sherlock held John close, eyes falling closed once again, not to crawl inside his own mind and disappear, but to hold a memory he could never want to delete.


End file.
